Strawberry Tomorrows
by Aparecium465
Summary: Alexander Anderson x OC Why does Alexander really hate vampires so much?


I don't own Hellsing or any of the characters. I do own Holly. I didn't even review this; I just started typing so critics are welcomed. If you enjoyed the story please message me so I know if I should keep writing. I've been playing with more Anderson Fanfiction ideals.

You can also e-mail me at Aparecium465 yahoo,com-- thanks! n.n

* * *

"Father Anderson!" Cried Holly's aggravated voice.

Blue orbs eyed the reverend, the owner feeling at wits end. Every time he left, he came back in horrible condition. This time it appeared he'd taken several bullets to his cranium.

Quickly the blond doctor made an estimate of the damage, urging the large man to sit before he caused himself further harm. He had a sheepish look about him. A look akin to a child who had been caught doing something wrong.

It was a small catholic hospital, broken down and full of old or no longer used supplies; still it was hers.

The weary building stood no larger than a one story cottage. Pealed fencing could use a new paint job as could the establishment itself. To this very moment the reason he comes here escapes her. The church itself would surely have better supplies than the rundown hospital he kept returning to. There was also the fact he was a regenerator, by the time she assessed the problems his body would already start the process of healing itself.

A small grunt escaped his sealed lips as she, none too gently, sterilized and wrapped a wound she found on his arm. If it wasn't obvious before that she was frustrated with him, it was now. She didn't know what could have caused these wounds, it had to be an unusual thing that would cause his healing abilities to slow. The woman didn't really understand how regenerators 'worked'. He was the only one she had ever met. Their first encounter had been terrible at the very least. She thought him to be some sort of freakish monster, not a guardian of the church.

The blond Scottish man removed his shirt, as per the usual routine. His top layer, black priestly collar and jacket had found themselves shredded beyond repair. Only the button up white undershirt remained from his encounter with the undead.

She first met this man ten years ago when she was but a fresh medical student to the owner of the hospital. Now 28 and the owner, she looked at the same man who didn't appear to age a day.

She sighed after making sure there were no other wounds(the one on his head would just have to heal on its own). His chest and back were marred with dark scaring tissue. She lightly touched a new mark on his shoulder blade. It was still hard to believe such a kind-hearted man would march into battle against god knows what.

She refused to believe that the scars were true to his character, although she admitted they did stand as a testament to his stubbornness. He loved those children at the church too much to be anything but an honest, good-willed man.

He was a very handsome man, honing his rugged look to perfection. Truth be told he was very attractive to the blond-blue eyed beauty. Sometimes she just wish she didn't only see him when he was broken or if a child at the orphanage got sick!

She found herself in front of him yet again, letting him know he was gonna' live. Though neither of them believed otherwise.

"Yer' gray' hair suits ya nicely," came his bad attempt to start a conversation.

She sent him a mighty glare. It wasn't all gray! Just a few inches on a few hairs!

She gave a small snort facing away from him making marks in his medical portfolio.

"You would notice- you gave me half of them."

She faced him in time to see his juvenile grin. He wanted her to get frustrated! First he comes in banged up thousands of times, and now he picks fun at her!

The petite woman marched up to him till her left pointer finger was firmly pressed against his muscular, still unclothed, chest.

"Now you listen here, bub," his right eyebrow rose in amusement, "don't you go thinking you can make fun of me just…"

At some point he stopped listening to her, instead choosing to pay close attention to her beautiful flushed face. She looked just as stunning as she had ten years ago, aging like a fine wine.

A priest of the catholic church may not marry, in fact they aren't allowed relations at all. He was careful that every time he went to see her he had an excuse, even if it was only half-assed. He wanted to see her, however he also felt strongly about honoring his word to God. The two blonds had seen each other a great deal of times these last few years. Even being limited to the conversations they had while she was tending to the injured(him or one of the orphans), their bond grew at a strong and steady rate.

"Are you even listening to me Alexander!" Maybe the Scottish man pushed her a little too far.

"Aye, Sorry." The handsome man gave off yet another sheepish smile. A deeper shade of blush found its way to her cheeks.

She turned on her heels to retrieve his folder. Large hands wormed the white shirt back onto his toned body.

"You know, you should really consider coming by when your not suffering from affliction," said Holly as she glanced at him from the corner of her eyes frustrations forgotten, and a pink hue on her face. Little did she know just how much he wanted to.

"I'll be sur'e too," he said lightly, he noticed the small curve to the corners of her lips, "I've been thinkin' the children miss ya." She felt, not for the first time tonight, exasperated.

"Up, up, up," she ushered him, shoving the folder, its contents and a fresh roll of bandages in his arms.

"Re-apply the bandages once every day, after rigorous activity and after every bath or shower," she shoved him toward the door mumbling about how she would be stuck there all night because of his late arrival. Thrusting him out, Alexander faced her. A tan hand sneaked out to tuck a fallen strand of platinum hair behind Holly's lovely ear. The blushes she displayed earlier that night were all too easily outdone and the door was slammed shut before he could utter the words 'good night'. A genuine smile graced his face.

* * *

The following nights were spent with careful consideration. It was possible for him to leave the priesthood. He could be a follower of the church a warrior of it, but not a father. The more his beauty came to mind, the more confident he was in the decision. There was no doubt on his part, and gauging her reactions there was none on hers.

Tomorrow…Tomorrow he would become Alexander Anderson, not Paladin Alexander Anderson, not Father Alexander Anderson, just Alexander Anderson. For the first time in a very long time the man would do something for himself, to allow himself to be happy.

Tomorrow never came. Deep in the thrones of the night he had awaken to banging on his door. A small, new nun had been vigorously banging on the hard wood of his door.

"Vampires-," taking a deep breath, the brown eyed nun calmed her beating heart just a bit. She had ran there, no doubt. "To the south, wrecking havoc on the towns people."

Without another word Anderson grabbed the scarce belongings he needed. His speed was incredible, well practiced in the art of not running in to things or tripping.

Renaldo(the butler-like man who acts as a body to Maxwell in the ova, and manga series) had already been seated in the small blue car. It seems Renaldo had been waiting for him, he might be getting up in years yet, the older man remained as nimble as ever.

They had arrived at the small no-name town within minutes. Ghouls of all kinds ran a muck. Once the paladin exited the car the old catholic turned and headed back toward the church. It was a known fact the priest could use the biblical scriptures to return at any time. Unfortunately it wasn't a two way road. The only destination he could transport to was the catholic church.

The metallic smell of blood thickened the air. It smelled wretchedly of rotting flesh, fecal matter, and death. Despite what people think, turning into an undead, even a vampire, is a messy business. Regardless of what people become, the moment a person passes over their body releases it's bowels. It's a nasty transformation, in more ways than one. The small town was pleasant, of course that had been the day before. Before just about all of its town folk had been turned into corrupt dead slaves.

The dirt road was smothered in blood as the priest's blades sliced though the undead. He was traveling further and further south- the vampire, nowhere in sight. In and out of buildings and homes he searched for the heathen.

Realization hit him making him feel as if he had just been sucker-punched. The tall man's gut was a bundle of knots. He was drawing closer to the hospital…her hospital, with each step he took. The trees danced around him wildly in the wind. His view of the night got darker. He ran. For the first time he began feeling suffocating desperation. Things came by as a blur, and he struck down only the ghouls that came across his path. Green eyes frantically searched for any sign of a vampire, any sign of Holly.

The run down hospital was in his sight. Strolling out the busted door was a young beautiful woman with silk black hair, a pale complexion that shined in the moon light. Her eyes brimmed with red. Nothing else went through his mind as he sent eight blessed bayonets though her being. He acted without thought. Not even stopping to watch the filthy hectic turn to dust.

On the floor not two steps from the door lied the object of his search.

Blood poured down her now pale neck. With her eyes barely lit she was defiantly holding onto consciousness. Blood pooled around her body. The red liquid clumped her hair making it stick to the cloth on her back.

He knelt quickly scooping her up. The dieing object of desire had been propped against the crook in his left arm using his right hand to turn her blond head towards him. Her blue eyes were loosing luster.

Upon seeing him the corners of her mouth moved a bit as if she wanted to smile and simply didn't have the strength. Her face showed how strained and tired her muscles were.

"Alex…" her voice cracked as she croaked out his name. Inside his very soul there was something breaking, he couldn't identify what.

He looked in her eyes and knew what she wanted as she struggled to lift her face closer to his. He knew what he wanted. He descended his lips towards hers, their eyes never ceasing contact. Her eyes went in and out of focus. Her lips, even close to death, were full and beautiful. He could feel her warm shallow breath on his mouth. He leaned in further for contact, the smell of her strawberry lip balm barely detectable over the invading smell of blood. Without warning her head lolled to the side and immediately her body was dust.

"NO!" the shout from his voice was much louder than any cry.

"NOO!" he griped the falling ash in his hand crushing the tiny particles between his fingers.

He had killed the vampire; the second the vampire's blood made Holly her minion ,Holly was reduced to dust like her creator.

Her lips, they were so close to his. The feeling of her breath on his flesh. Her smell. He could almost taste her. Her sweet strawberry lips. He would never feel them, never taste them on his. He would never know what could have been, what almost was. He kept grabbing handfuls of the dirty residue left behind. Digging angrily as if she would magically appear under the small pile. He wanted her! He wanted to be with her! He wanted to love her!

Time passed slowly. The reverend hadn't even realized how long he had been sitting there before the sun found its place in the morning sky. Praying, that's all the father did for quite some time. He sat praying till dawn. Stiff, his knees where stiff as boards when he stood.

Vampires were a menace. They all deserved to die. Abominations of God. Hatred swelled within him like never before. With new vigor he stepped out of the hospital- they would all die. He would not fail, never again. He would destroy every vampire no matter what the costs.

With the thoughts of what could have been, Angel Dust Anderson left the hospital bringing forth hatred for undead, of which the world had never seen.

The almost taste of strawberries never leaving his mind.


End file.
